Dashing Through the Snow
by Jan Lee
Summary: [NOVELLA.] Crash landed on an ice planet, shuttle in a burning ruin, Carver must overcome the whispered, sinister guilt pulsating in his head to help his team survive. Even if it means sacrificing his own life. Carver-centric. Post-CMS Roanoke. Developed with Ragnarok666. Updated Saturdays and Tuesdays, sort of.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary**: [NOVELLA.] Crash landed on an ice planet, shuttle in a burning ruin, Carver must overcome the whispered, sinister guilt pulsating in his head to help his team survive. Even if it means sacrificing his own life. Carver-centric. Post-CMS Roanoke. Developed with Ragnarok666. Updated Saturdays and Tuesdays.

**Rating**: M, for profanity & adult themes.

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Dead Space.

**A/N:** So, here we are again, dear readers. For clarity's sake, the story is written as though Carver and Isaac had fought alongside one another up until the _Crozier_ crashes on Tau Volantis. There they are separated, and it is at this separation that our story picks up. Please enjoy.

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**DASHING THROUGH THE SNOW**

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**Chapter 1**

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"**Dad? Hey, Dad?"** His son's young, energetic voice stirred him. "Dad, are you there?"

He was tired, bone-weary, dead on his feet. "Dill, I'm trying to sleep." Lips were numb, painfully cracked. "Trying to sleep…"

"Dad. You gotta wake up. The monsters are coming."

Outside his skull, diffused, he heard an inhuman roar that shattered any illusion pinning him. The darkness flew back as adrenaline surged. A fiery inferno danced around him, flames licking up, crackling along, the _Crozier's_ buckled metallic sides. Smoke suffocated him; heat baked his skin. Miraculously, he was still clipped into his seat, but it was half torn off its stand and leaned him into the shattered controls. After three tries with his stiffened fingers, he managed to unclip his harness. Dizzied, he collapsed to his forearms and knees and coughed.

What happened?

Bits and pieces cohered in his brain as he viewed the _Crozier_'s mangled carcass. Santos and Buckell, Ellie, Norton, and Isaac. They'd escaped the _Roanoke_, dropped like a rock from the flight-path, hitting clustered mines. Then alarms, violent jolts, Isaac yelling, a horrible crack, air sucked out of his lungs, and uncomfortable free fall. It had happened so fast. Isaac's torn section spiraled in one direction; they crashed in the other.

"Carver? Carver, you alive, soldier?"

His ears rang, and based on the throb in his brain, he was sure he'd cracked open his head. He thought he might puke. As he was hauled to his feet, his stomach did an unhappy heave.

Norton's broad nose jutted out from his pale face. Blue eyes squinted over a mean scowl. "You're not too worse for wear. C'mon. I need your help with Buckell. He's trapped."

He said nothing in reply, but chose to follow the captain to a debris heap- -metal which looked like the hull, crumpled, jumbled with chunks of black mineral rock. A leg stuck out from under it. Santos hunched to peer between the metal jumble, shouted for Buckell. His feeble response was swept away in the wind.

Norton stood opposite with Santos to the side. "Grab under the top. We lift up on three."

Carver scrabbled his fingertips for purchase, hooked his first knuckle into a fissure. At Norton's nod, they strained their backs and shoulders and biceps to move the largest top piece aside. They grunted and grit their teeth as they flung off the heavy metal and stone. Enough of the weight was removed that Buckell could shove away more solid hunks and pieces. Blood soaked the man's shirt under his arm.

Carver stepped back. Every thought, every action felt detached, removed, under the buzz inside his ears. His son and wife loomed in the flames. Distant figures. Dylan. Damara? I can't…I can't hear you. Where are you? He let Santos guide him to a roaring fuel fire and ease him to his haunches. There was heat and gasoline stink and a bitter, biting coldness where the fire couldn't reach. So this is Tau Volantis.

His harness and suit had protected him from any serious trauma, but ever since Uxor, he'd had a splitting headache. It made any other ache or pain pale in comparison. Sometimes the pain shifted like a nebulous, oily mass inside his brain. He wished he could get relief from that throb. For something to do, he started the diagnostics program on his suit and waited. After a dozen pings, he canceled the diagnostic since the damage was too extensive for any repairs anyway.

Buckell groaned beside him as Santos leaned to examine the bleeding wound. From where he sat, he could see Santos's whole body tremble. In the cold, he was sure her body temperature had plummeted. All of them were in danger of hypothermia, and all of them knew it. The protective soldier in him forced him to stand, to man up. Weapons. Ammo. Useful supplies. Shelter. Wind tore between the jutted teeth of the valley, a constant, high-pitched howl. It swirled up snow, blasted it into his cheeks and eyes, a beast with insatiable hunger. Visibility was next to nothing.

Only half-recovered, Carver trudged into the broken hull to sift through any remaining compartments and lockers. Anything to keep his mind and hands busy. He skirted around Rosen's corpse, head shorn from debris. Locke had been sucked out into atmosphere. Where her body lay, no one would know.

_And no one will know where your body will lay, John Carver. _The dark, boiling sibilation seared into his numbed mind. He did his best to shake free of the claws. _No one will care enough to search. _

Shut up and leave me alone.

After a methodical search, he found an undamaged rifle. The ammo counter showed full. Then near the shorn nose, mounted on the wall, was a full container of rescue flares. Aside from these findings, everything else had been destroyed from the crash and resultant explosions. No food, no water, no warm or protective gear. They would have to scavenge as they went. Following this conclusion, his suit finished running the check- -everything seemed in working order.

From behind him, Ellie stormed onto the gutted deck, Norton one step behind her. Wherever they stepped creaked. "No, Robert. I can't give up. Just let me do this!" She looked close to tears, frantic, so Carver said nothing and stood aside to give her room to pace or an escape from Norton's presence. As a married man, he implicitly understood her need.

"Ellie! Ellie," Norton appealed to her, but Santos called his attention and he huffed. "Ellie, we're not through talking about this. Whatever you're doing, hurry it up. We gotta get somewhere warm." He shook his head with frustration at Ellie's turned back before leaving to aide Santos.

When Ellie moved for a vid-screen that showed green, she noticed him in the shadows and jolted back. "Oh God! Carver!" When she recovered, her fear morphed into warm concern. "Are you all right?" Dark smudges marred her skin and purplish half-moons drooped under her mismatched eyes. The _Roanoke_ had not been kind to her.

"I'm alive." He stepped aside so she could access the vid-screen, already knowing the answer to his next question. "Isaac's not in the wreckage?"

She shook her head. "No. He's not. But he's alive. I can feel it."

"He's a tough bastard," Carver admitted. Their experiences fighting off the Circle on Lunar Horizons were fresh and vivid in his mind. Then both Danik's crew _and _the Necromorphs that came when the Marker activated, plus the work they'd done together to get the _Crozier_ up and running so that they could land on Tau Volantis. Grudging respect flickered. "He'll be alive and searching for you."

Carver held no illusions that his life mattered to Isaac. His or Norton's or the others. Only Ellie's life mattered to Isaac, and Carver could understand that. Hell, he'd feel the same if it was his family stranded, alone and without protection. "If you're leaving a message, you better do it. Norton's in a rotten mood as it is."

"Thank you." A faint smile shone, but faded in an instant. She leaned over the vid-screen and selected the record option. Carver discreetly exited to support Buckell as he lumbered to his feet, features grim. Not even his meaty hands could cover the laceration he tried to hide.

Behind them, Ellie spoke to the screen. "Isaac, if you find this…God, I hope you find this-"

Impatient, Santos rushed up to grab her shoulder and tug. "Ellie! Come on! We're freezing to death out here!"

"I'm coming!" But she returned to the recording, determined to speak her mind. "We're on our way to find some shelter, but I'm gonna leave you this trail of flares-"

Norton, his tone lashing with frustration, interrupted her. "The man's dead, Ellie! Let's go!"

"Isaac…please, be alive."

"Come on," Norton said and yanked Ellie away from the recording. She gave in to Norton.

Being the one with the gun and a more active military lifestyle, Carver took up point. He had an itch between his shoulder blades that suggested a sinister life force prepping an attack. Tau Volantis had had plenty of time to marinate and evolve the Necromorph virus. Whatever the threat, he hoped they had similar weakness to what he faced before. He slogged past Norton, who brought up the rear, his face a tempestuous thundercloud. Santos's small frame upheld Buckell's weight, and Ellie had slipped under his other arm to balance him and help ease Santos's load. All three's features were dour.

"Ellie! We are well and truly screwed here," Norton called over the harsh wind. "When are you gonna admit this mission is FUBAR?"

"Now is _not _the time." Santos, not Ellie, responded. "Buckell's in a bad way, and we'll all die of hypothermia and exposure if we don't secure a shelter soon."

"Yeah, when _is_ the time?" Norton spat. No one responded to him.

Santos was right. Even in his suit, Carver felt the wind's icy fingers. They searched for chinks in his armor, any weakness, and found it. Under the protective layer, his skin shriveled and rippled with pimples. Their feet crunched over the veined black mineral laced with ice. Where there was deeper snow, the crunches became muffled. Overhead, great uneven spires lurched from the ground and crowded over the small group.

Through the miasma of snow, ice, and wind, they negotiated the slick rock. Ellie dropped the flares within line of sight, so that the soft red would mark a clear path. The group came to a downhill slope, and even with the swirled snow, Carver noticed a rusted, bulbous shape under a snowy white blanket. Some sort of bunker? Whatever it was, it was shelter.

"We've got an installation up ahead. Be careful on the path. It's tricky," he called out. He waited at the bottom of the decline, his rifle to his shoulder. That omnipresent evil lingered here, hovering, stalking.

To the left, the installation was an overgrown caterpillar that ran alongside what seemed to be another cliff. An orange SCAF snow tractor huddled along the belly of the facility, abandoned. The center avenue was carpeted with soft snow that curved next to a high wall of that black Tau Volantis rock.

Tattered olive-drab flaps fluttered in the high wind, a hopeless flag over some corrugated metal. The shape and design of it looked like a set of barracks. But as they came closer, screams and guttural roars joined the wind's sonorous whistle.

Carver saw the first one as it took shape in the haze. His stomach plummeted to his toes. The thing sprinted, long blade-tipped limbs swinging, camouflaged with white snow gear. And it was as nightmarish as ever, but familiar. These he knew how to neutralize. Carver's finger, curled on the trigger, squeezed, but his forefinger had numbed. Shit. His controlled burst lasted longer than he intended, and the wasted bullets angered him.

In that second, however, the Necromorph's leg flew off, black fluid splattering, leaving the torso to scrabble forward on spindly forearms. Its face was a gaping desecration of humanity left to decay on this frozen hellhole for 200 years. Not a pretty picture, to say the least. Carver dropped his aim to activate his TK, snatching the sharp bone from the Necromorph's forearm; a trick learned from Isaac to conserve ammo. He took special pleasure in spearing it with its own weapon.

The firefight had attracted attention. A raw, overwhelming racket rose around them.

"There's more! We have to run for it!" Norton yelled. He hauled Ellie behind him, her arm a bridge between them. Santos, loyal and fierce, kept pace with Buckell. "Hurry it up!"

Carver swung around to keep the group in his sites. Norton had rushed further ahead, had released Ellie's arm. Had surged into a frantic sprint. Where was he running to? From Carver's vantage, the dark smudge up ahead looked to be a dead end where a precipice yawned out. With the wind and snow, he couldn't be sure.

Snow rippled and waved on the ground, disrupted into a shallow channel. Deeply disturbed, Carver watched as a Necromorph exploded from under the snow. A slasher. It honed in on Norton, within meters' reach. The thing leapt forward like a tarantula after a juicy morsel. Carver was too slow in bringing up the gun to target it.

Somehow, Norton lunged out of the blades' range, his shoulder tucked, and slammed against some corrugated metal panels with a resounding bang. This thin metal was the single barricade between Norton and a long swan dive over a cliff. Carver blasted apart the thing's knees, putting it to the ground. Black slurry sprayed the virginal white. But the slasher roared once before he severed the limb poised to spear Norton.

Around them fevered roars and screams clamored closer, louder, chilling already chilled blood. A ladder rose up to a level overhead to the left. Carver hauled Norton to his feet and shoved him to the grotty rungs. He didn't know where it led, but it was better than nothing.

"Up there!" He boosted up Norton, kept his rifle hugged to his shoulder. Panic jittered inside him. "Move, people. Move!"

One Necromorph ventured into visibility. Carver's bullets sliced apart the desiccated flesh, severed the femur to set the corpse flailing for balance. It toppled over the cliff's edge, arms spin-wheeling. Then another and another crept closer, cautious, calculating, and the panic spread through his mortal chest. Yet he remained calm enough to blast the bloodied and ragged legs to hinder them. From behind, his group one-by-one scaled the ladder until he was clear. He lobbed stasis in the middle of those vicious monsters, slowed them. During those precious seconds, he let down his guard to haul ass up the rungs.

The Necromorphs swarmed the ladder's base. Dozens of warped faces screamed at him in shrill frustration. Among them, Damara and Dylan watched, their eyes sad, their bodies as solid as the rock under their feet. Carver glimpsed them and then they were gone.

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**A/N:** Hey, Dead Space lovers! It's a really a pleasure to be writing Dead Space again. I hope you enjoy this new novella. Let me know thoughts & comments. See you next time.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **And welcome back, Dead Space lovers! I apologize profusely for missing my post date yesterday. I had a family obligation to deal with, so I was unable to post. However, here I am with a fresh chapter. Enjoy.

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**Chapter 2**

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Four hands reached for him and helped him over the lip onto the rickety catwalk. Ellie, holding an alight flare, dropped it at the foot of the ladder. The red glow left a burning trail. When it landed, the slashers hissed and scuttled back from it, but left it as it lay.

"Are you okay?" Ellie shouted. The wind was louder up here, colder and angrier if possible. Her hair blew back and forth, dark strands whipped into disarray. "That was close."

"I'm good. Keep moving." Seeing Damara and Dylan had rolled his heart in his chest. He hadn't quite recovered from the shock. They'd been so lifelike, _alive._

Norton, white flight suit blending in, led them across the ravine that the catwalk bridged, his hand cupped to shield his eyes. He was already half to the other side. Santos and Ellie supported Buckell between them. He'd worsened since the _Crozier._ Their progress was slower, but Carver kept pace with them.

"Robert! Slow down! We can't keep up," Ellie shouted.

He didn't. Either he hadn't heard her because of the wind, or…be careful. Be careful because that next thought would be mutinous. Treacherous. To hell with it, he told that caution and followed the thought through. Either Norton hadn't heard or he had ignored Ellie's plea.

That thought was nauseating. This was his captain, his buddy from the good ole days. The guy who got his crew out of jams tougher than this, who had supported Carver when he'd been transferred to Uxor, whom Dylan called Uncle Rob. Cowardice didn't jive with Norton's ilk; however, the vague idea of it left a bad taste in his mouth. It wouldn't leave him alone.

Ultimately, there wasn't anything he could do at the present. They needed a secure location, protection, and a dozen other imperative needs. So pushing the anxiousness back, Carver kept unforgiving watch on the broken and collapsed areas on the catwalk. At any time he expected a slasher to crawl over one of those rails. Or something worse. None did. On the catwalk's other side, behind a rusted sheet of cheap metal was a portal. Painted across the wall with faded, peeling yellow and white was the word ALOHA. The door glowed blue, and relieved, Carver turned it with his TK.

Inside lent protection from the wind. Carver waved the others back so he could clear the area. Dark gray indoors were dimly lit with multi-color lights snaking along the wall. Debris scattered across the floor, coated with dust and grit, and the musty staleness cloistered in on him. A couple individual desks along one wall were decorated for the tropics, with family snapshots and various papers. Some lockers stood up on the far wall. Next to the lockers was a turned-off bench. And, to his wild exultation, a generator squatted on the right side under some windows.

"We're clear!" he shouted to the others, breath leaving steamy puffs hanging in the air. He stood at the elderly generator. "And we're lucky."

As the group rushed inside, wearing the cold like thick coats, Carver examined the generator. Everything seemed to be intact. It was a crank-style motor, so he used his TK again. The ancient machine rumbled to life, puttered, but steadied out. Lights flickered on and precious, wonderful heat radiated from the coil heaters attached to the walls. He noticed it had a timer with an automatic shut-off, which meant that it would stop to conserve energy unless someone charged it up again.

Ellie, Santos, and Buckell crowded around one of the coil heaters, their teeth chattering and bodies quivering. Norton had isolated himself at the generator.

He'd known Norton long enough to interpret his captain's jaw, where barely subdued anger hardened and twitched the muscles. A storm brewed, and he was sure Ellie would receive the brunt of it.

Buckell lumbered to a chair and hunkered down, skin ashen and carved with wrinkles. He seemed droopy, malleable, and exhausted beyond comprehension. His sigh was forlorn and to Carver, he sounded as if he was on his last leg.

"I'm finally getting the feeling back in my fingers," Santos said, cutting into the silence that shrouded them. "I thought for sure I'd be frostbitten."

Ellie continued to rub her hands. "I think we can get into the main installation from here. If we keep following these corridors, they are bound to lead us to some answers."

"And then what?" Norton cut in, his words sharp with fury. "Stick out our thumbs and hitch a ride home?"

"No," responded Ellie, and it sounded like deliberate patience, "we find a way to shut down the master Marker signal with this machine-thing Isaac told us about."

He snorted. "Yeah, right. This whole thing has been a farce. In case you haven't noticed, we're stranded on a _dead planet_, babe. With a countless number of those things wandering around, ready to kill us. We have no food, no water, no weapons. The way I see it, we're through with your precious mission. We're going to salvage what we can of the _Crozier_, maybe find an operational shuttle, _if we're lucky,_ and get the hell off this planet."

"And let the Markers turn the entire human race into Necromorphs? How can you say that?" Ellie shot back. "Our lives are not the priority. I've told you and told you that the Markers are a force that will annihilate all life everywhere. We may be the only hope of defeating it. I thought you understood that."

"It's not my job, and it's not your job to save the universe." Norton's features narrowed at her resistance. "Furthermore, if we leave here, we have no guarantee of further shelter or protection from both those monsters and the freezing fucking temperature out there. And, cherry on top, you wasted at least six flares on a dead guy."

Carver noticed immediately the effect the implication had on Ellie. Cold steel straightened out her spine up to her chin. "Isaac's not dead," she said. "He'll have found a way to survive. He's survived in worse situations than this."

"Oh, you must mean Aegis VII. Well, let me refresh your memory based on the reports I've read. One, Aegis VII didn't have a life-threatening climate." Norton's fingers kept count. "Two, Isaac had an intact shuttle that he could fly off planet. And three, and this is a biggie, Aegis VII had a controlled population. A few thousand, tops. In comparison to the few _billion _that infest this planet. Let's face it, Ellie. Isaac survived by sheer dumb luck. Now, his luck's run out and we're still up against impossible odds."

"Is that the best you can do, Robert? Really, at this point, you're not even trying to find a solution to the problem. Yes, we're in a crisis, and yes, we're up against impossible odds, but none of that means we should give up. This is the entirety of mankind you're tossing to the dogs. I thought you were made of sterner stuff. I know that if we try, we may triumph yet."

"So now you're psychic, hunh? That's rich. Tell me, oh gypsy lady, how many more minutes do we get before we bite the dust? I, for one, have had it up to here. We are in way over our heads, Ellie. And I hate to do it, but I'm pulling rank." At this he fixed Carver with his piercing gaze. "Our main priority is survival and escape from the planet. That's a direct order."

A terrible dark hole opened up inside Carver's gut then. He didn't know what it predicated, but before he could respond, the argument carried on without him.

"Hey, you can't-"

"Enough!" Santos stepped between them, her hands raised. "This petty bickering will get us nowhere. This is a military base. There will be other shelters, I'm sure of it. If we're to get off the planet, we'll have to find bays or landing pads. We know the _Crozier_ was one such shuttle. We at least investigate the main installation, and if there are no shuttles, we can send out an SOS. The shockbeacon we left is still operational, and we can direct the SOS through that."

"We have no map, Santos," Norton spat. He crossed his arms in triumph. "How're we going to get to the main installation? Use a divining rod? And who the hell will pick up the other end even if we clear a signal?"

"Captain, we don't have many options." Buckell's rasped voice silenced everyone. "Carver's your man. We know he'll follow whatever orders you give. But listen to Santos and Ellie. We can make it to the main base if we push forward. Think of all the supplies left behind that we could use to our benefit. At least we'll survive long enough to maybe find an escape and in the meanwhile, stop whatever the Marker is doing."

Carver wanted to refute Buckell's factual statement, but realized it had been the truth for as long as he and Norton were buddies. He was Norton's right-hand man, but as the conversation had unfolded, he felt more and more agitated with Norton's arguments. He'd actually called rank on a group of people who did not have an alignment with EarthGov, who had spent the majority of the last four or so years fighting _against _EarthGov's machinations.

Why did that small action bother him so much, seem so laughable? It had happened dozens of times before. But the sole purpose this time was to prevent Ellie, Santos, and Buckell from completing a humanity-saving quest.

The sole purpose this time was selfishness, pure and simple.

That deep pit, filled with hesitation and questions, cleared up. Carver felt himself align with Ellie's position. The Markers were evil, proven to destroy and murder good people. Good people like his innocent son and wife. His duty was to protect and serve human beings, so that meant protecting them against the Marker's threat, no matter the cost or sacrifice.

Norton's words, his actions, had cowardly taint to them. Distaste crept up. At that moment, Carver understood what he had to do. Regardless of rank, his sole purpose on Tau Volantis was to end the Marker's malignant reign. He would do so with whatever means necessary, which meant that everyone, including himself, was expendable. Norton could order all he wanted, but Carver had his sights set. Kill the Marker. Kill it like it had killed his family.

Oblivious to Carver's train of thought, Norton answered Buckell after a long pause. "Fine. There's no sense in staying out in the middle of nowhere. Ten more minutes, then we're moving out. Carver? You're on point when we do."

"Yes, sir," Carver responded. He stood at the opposite door they entered to wait for the group's preparations.

As he waited, Ellie, Santos, and Buckell searched the drawers and any lockers that would open. They discovered several salvageable SCAF sweatshirts, gloves, and hats. Meager offerings, but better than nothing against bitter cold temperatures. The trio bundled up as best they could. Ellie grabbed handfuls of loose papers off the desks, crumpled them, and cornered Buckell.

"Hold still," she told him. "I'm putting these under your shirt."

"Ellie, it's not necessary."

Santos intervened. "Let her. Those papers will insulate and keep your body temperature steady. You're at more risk than the rest of us for hypothermia."

"Don't you start," Buckell said, but that was as much as he could argue. He deflated a bit and let Ellie finish stuffing him. When she was finished, he muttered, "I'm the damn scarecrow."

"It'll have to do until we find some better equipment," replied Ellie. "It can't be helped."

Norton had not moved from the window, where he scowled out at Tau Volantis as a whole. The man was not a graceful loser. "Is everyone ready?" he asked, without turning.

Ellie frowned. "Yes. As we'll ever be."

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**A/N:** Thanks, as always, for reading. If you have any questions, comments, or suggestions, please let me know. I appreciate all your conversation. See next time.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: **Some details have been changed from gameplay to add realism to the fictional text. Also, sorry again for the late posting. I don't know what's going on with my brain. Please, enjoy.

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**Chapter 3**

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The frigid wind and air felt like a swift kick to the gut after the warmth in the station. Carver wound around the barrier's edges and faced the forever-white. Some snaking metal tube disappeared into the dense white and gray blizzard. Around the corner was an open-air cargo lift, rusted, creaky, but functional. When everyone had boarded, he tapped the holopad to activate it. No one said anything as the lifted lowered them down a level.

Norton and Ellie's argument left everyone too tense for words.

In front of them bars twisted and metal decking rusted. Parts of the metal corridor were punctured, sharp flaps peeled back like a tin can. Other sections had fallen or the powerful wind had ripped them off. As they progressed, several areas were slicked over with ice and snow. The weight of snow and ice had collapsed the roof in one or two sections, but they were able to continue the end of the tube. Carver had the uncomfortable feeling that they were inside the ribs of a large, slumbering creature.

There, a metal ladder led downwards to what seemed to be a major entrance to a bunker coated with (surprise) more ice and snow. Carver lifted his rifle scope to his eye and zoomed in. He saw the green glow of a keypad. They wouldn't be getting in that door. A wide, white band skirted the bunker to the right, out of sight in the blizzard. To the left seemed to be hemmed in with dark, jagged rock.

Carver turned to the others. "We won't be able to get inside here, but it looks like there's a path around. Maybe there's a back entrance?"

"We won't know until we check," said Ellie.

No one else said anything. Norton smoldered in sulky silence; Buckell and Santos were too exhausted for words. Carver stepped onto the ladder, descended, and dismounted. He didn't know how deep the snow and ice layered and he didn't know what specific types of creatures lurked at his feet. Regardless, he kept his rifle shouldered and remained vigilant in as close to 360 degrees as he could manage.

Ellie's feet crunched as she hopped off, then Buckell, Santos, and Norton in the rear. Overhead was another catwalk, mangled and shorn in sections. The group moved as a single entity to the curvaceous metal wall. Everywhere was snow and ice and more snow. Carver plunged forward, itchy with anticipation and the fear that one monster out there had his name.

As they circled around, large steel I-beams upheld the upper decks over their heads. Wind continued to scream, and in his sec-suit, Carver's limbs were numbed. When the ground shook, his first thought was that an earthquake shuddered under their feet. But it was not a powerful enough shake to throw them off balance. It also seemed syncopated and inconsistent. Then a shrill squeal blasted overhead.

He glanced to the others, huddled up to the frigid steel, and followed their gaze upwards. Something large, dark, spider-like with thin, armored limbs and much too close for comfort, stood above them. He'd like to think he had nerves hard as nails, but the sight of this new terror quailed him. He shrank backwards, his suit clunked up against the wall, and he watched it spin tail, shriek, and thunder into the unknown.

"What the _fuck_ was that thing?" His hoarse whisper was lost in the wind.

It was Ellie who galvanized them. "It's moving away from us. Keep going!"

Carver's brain clicked into gear. He could do nothing but keep everyone alive for as long as possible. If it came to be that he had to fight that beast, then he would fight it as hard as he could and give no quarter. He put it out of his mind. To dwell on it would put a stop to any logical, clear thinking that was necessary for survival.

Around the curve of the building they trudged, white and grey and snow endless. Cold bit into him. His movements were beyond him and every numbed limb seemed to run on autopilot.

"It looks like there's a…large facility ahead!" Ellie called out. Carver barely heard her, whether from the wind's roar or his fear. He looked ahead and saw what she meant. "Stay close to the wall or we're all lost in this blizzard!"

Their beleaguered little group stumbled forward another few meters, using the sides of the facility to guide their progress. A break in the weather gave them a precious minute of relief, and it was the veil lifting that saved them. Three streaks, like smoke contrails from ships, plumed from the snow. Carver recognized the sign.

"Move faster, everyone. We've got company." He motioned to what he saw. "I'll hold them up."

"Carver…" Ellie said, but she knew they stood a better chance if Carver stood between them and the Necromorphs. "Be careful."

Slashers surged out of the snowy blanket. Carver used the entirety of his stasis to buy time- -time to aim, time for the others to get away, time to think of the half-mag left in his weapon. He managed to sever the blades off one, felling it. TK snapped up the blade, shot it to spear through a second, which crippled it. The body doubled over, flew two meters back, and collapsed on the snow.

Now the third hurtled at him. No more stasis and no more rounds to help. Nothing but TK and a couple seconds to decide. He did the only thing he could do. He rolled away, the snow a cushion for the impact, and sprang to his feet with the field knife which had been secured at his calf. He had no time to feel fear as the Necromorph lunged at him a second time. It spewed thick fluid from its unhinged jaws, tentacles wiggled, but the bright, yellow eyes burned fierce and hateful.

Carver strafed the twin blades that scythed at him with inhuman fury. With all the force he could muster, he delivered a devastating stomp to the back of the awkward leg. The bone crunched but the Necromorph swung around, ignoring the mangled limb. But as it stepped, its other foot caught on the crooked leg and stumbled off balance into the snow.

He wasted no time. His knife slashed to catch the slasher's lethal blade at the thinnest joint. The tissue and bone was cut like butter under the keen edge. There was no sound to it. Off the slasher's limb flew with a spray of inky black fluid. Carver evaded an angry jab from the second arm, picked up the severed blade with TK, and dispatched the Necromorph, point blank. It was done.

Carver stood back. He realized a few seconds had passed, but that it felt like ten years. Snow shook down over the repulsive corpses, a sugar coating over rot. Enough of the uniforms remained on those bodies to identify them as SCAF infantry. While he calmed, he heard a prolonged roar- -not wind, not slashers- -but bigger, hungrier, angrier echo into the canyons. It was distant, but distance didn't matter with something huge and fast. Up along the building, further away he saw his group. The odds were so against them. Why did they even try?

_Because you have to._

The thought was more a feeling that telegrammed from deep within his brain. That was enough for him to crouch to the remains that lay strewn on the ground. Much flesh and muscle had liquefied, contorted so as to be unrecognizable as human. The military uniform, however, had held together over the centuries. One had a Waypoint Station keycard. Both had full 9 mil. pistol clips, but only one had his service pistol on him. Carver took what he could get.

"Carver? Carver, are you there?" Ellie's voice was raw. "Please, Carver. Please respond."

"Yeah, I'm here."

"Are you okay? Have you been hurt?"

"I'm fine."

"Thank God you're alright. Carver, we found an entrance and some more supplies. Follow the side of the facility around and you'll see the door. Everything's unlocked. Can you make it?"

"I can."

"Please hurry. We've got…a situation here."

Wind picked up in the gorge, harrying the snow into confused white. "I'm on my way."

Carver hugged the metallic siding, and try as he might to use caution, the wind had other ideas. The force of it shoved him into a rushed walk, buffeted him into the wall, and pelted him with ice shards. The gorge's sides were lost in grey haze. Regardless of zero visibility, his spatial sense seemed spread out, wider. Up ahead, flare's red glow guided him to a broad metal door with a circular crank. SCAF serial numbers decorated the side. The doors creaked open under his application of TK.

Inside was muffled, frigid, black with age, but protected from the cutting wind. No light save from his suit shone in this entry. A second set of doors barred opened into a main chamber. Snow had crept in. Norton and Ellie stood to the side, in apparent tense conversation. He caught from Ellie "I should be the one who…" and from Norton, "…not a sacrifice" before they lowered their voices further. Santos crouched next to Buckle, who had nestled into a corner. Bloodless lips and flesh told Carver nothing new. Buckle's time in the universe was numbered.

Carver also noticed several yellow suits hanging on hooks to his right. At a cursory glance, they weren't military, but it looked like they would give additional protection against the cold, wind, snow, and ice that Tau Volantis pitched on her surface.

When he approached, Ellie and Norton broke off their hushed discussion. She looked so relieved to see him. "Carver…" Her glassy eyes showed her authentic feelings.

"Glad you could make it, soldier," Norton said, vigorously shaking his hand. "We'd thought you bought it out there."

Norton's fake greeting served to annoy him. "Not yet. But it looks like one of us will."

"Exactly. Will you tell Ellie that there's no point in Buckell continuing on in his condition?"

"Robert! Show some tact!" An edge to her words resonated with Carver's own feelings toward Norton. She continued. "Buckell's still alive and while he's alive, he stays with us! We don't leave anyone behind."

Buckell coughed, feeble, breathless. "No, he's right, Ellie. I'm done."

"Please don't say that, Austin," Santos said. Her brown hand enclosed his pale, bluish fingers. "We need you with us."

"Heh, little lady. Trying…to make me…feel better." He had to catch his breath and grimaced. "Y'all don't need…me slowing you down."

"Ellie," said Norton, softer, "We're one snowsuit short. It's honorable that you want to preserve his life as long as possible, but how much longer will he survive? Use that suit to the benefit of someone who'll have longer than a couple hours. And we need better protection than this dump can afford us."

"We haven't explored this area enough. I can get the elevator running. We can at least see what's below before we abandon Buckell."

Santos interjected before Norton could respond. "Furthermore, I might be able to get some equipment here online. Maybe I can get a crude map so we're not wandering blind."

"She's right, Norton," Carver said. "We need weapons. Hell, _anything_ is good. I used up the last of my ammo, and I don't think a standard-issue is going to do much to protect us."

Norton's hard look was as good as a verbal reprimand, but Carver shrugged. Norton's potent authority had worn off. Finally Norton said, "Santos, if you think you can make something happen then you have your time. Carver, with me."

Norton led Carver to a smaller cubby hole that had various tools and gears strewn about. Wires ran from different areas into the larger chamber where the other worked. Across Norton's cheeks and nose was a red rash from the abrasive fine ice the wind carried. His lips were badly chapped, his eyes irritated and watery.

"We'll both have to exchange our suits for snowsuits," he stated. "Yours has so many malfunctions it's probably an upgrade anyway. If Santos and Ellie are right, and there is a research facility deeper in the canyon, you have a chance of finding an operable suit kiosk and changing back."

Carver absorbed this information a moment, accepted it, then said, "Will I retain the kinesis and stasis mods?"

"Ah, well, that's tricky. These snowsuits have TK modules, but no stasis. Ellie might have the technical knowledge to transplant the stasis mod to the snowsuit. I know she's had to rig ones up before, but from one suit to another…I don't know if it's possible."

"I guess we try and find out."

Norton nodded his head, once. He stepped in closer, put a hand on Carver's shoulder, and leaned in so that his mouth was right on Carver's ear. "Carver, did I hear you mention a 9-mil pistol?"

"That's right, sir." Automatically, his hand rested on the butt of it at his side.

"Be discreet. Hand it to me."

Norton's shifty behavior bred a bad feeling inside him. "Something I should know about?"

"Shh!" Norton licked his cracked lips. "Quiet. When we first came in, we heard movement, some type of scrambling or scuttling…from below. It's not happened since your arrival, but I didn't like the sound of it."

Confusion generated many questions. Most important was why did he want the gun to be given _discreetly_? "Ellie wants to go down there. Shouldn't she have a weapon?"

"Are you disobeying an order, soldier?"

Annoyance flared, and distrust because of that question's evasiveness. Carver didn't like not knowing who to trust. He framed his next words with care. "I am not, sir. I'm asking a question."

"She's not getting the weapon because she's not going down there." After a quick glance around, Norton stepped further into the shadowy space. "Look, Carver. We know Buckell's as good as dead. There is no reason for her to go further into danger. What if those things crawl up here with our backs turned? I need to protect myself."

Buckell was as good as dead? Carver suppressed an incredulous laugh. Buckell had been under Norton's command and whim for the last four years. And that was the kind of send-off he deserved? Since he was more attuned to it, he heard the selfishness in Norton's final words. The least Norton could do was to fake concern for his crew. It hurt to see the trust that had been built up over years and countless missions disintegrate.

"Well?" Norton's impatience burst the word between them.

Carver had not fully severed the ties that bound them. Maybe he would never be able to. Fact was, the group needed Norton; Norton needed the group. It was as simple as that until the situation changed. For survival, they had to stick together. Carver freed the gun, placing it in Norton's hand.

Norton partially unzipped his flight suit to slip the gun out of sight. "You've done the right thing."

"Don't waste those bullets, sir." Then turning toward the chamber, he said, "We might need them for ourselves."

* * *

**A/N:** On a side note, I really am enjoying Carver's POV. It's not often you see a story written from his perspective. Please let me know any thoughts & concerns. Until next time. =)


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **A little bit of a longer chapter, dear readers. Hope you enjoy.

* * *

**Chapter 4**

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Carver rolled back his shoulders. This…snowsuit was too tight and restricting. Itchy. "For the record, I don't like this."

"Sorry, John." In front of him stood Ellie, her face a mask of concentration. She shook her head. "I don't like it either. But I'm not an engineer, and Buckell's too weak to help. We'll just have to hope for the best."

She referred to transferring the stasis mod from the security suit to the snowsuit. Buckell tried talking Ellie through it, but he kept drifting off, fading mid-sentence. They decided it was best to let the old man rest before the next leg of the journey. However he felt about the lack of stasis, he physically felt the difference. The bone deep chill which had plagued him since the crash had drained out and soon, he was snug as a bug in a rug.

Shit, he shouldn't have thought that rhyme because now Dylan's round face fluttered in his vision and white-hot pain seared straight into his heart. He hadn't hardened it, but how could he? Dylan was the best of him (and if he was honest, the best of Damara). The agony sickened him- -so did the guilt- -and the constant headache reared up.

With it came orange flashes, Marker cuneiform, pulsating with his heart. He heard close whispers that crawled under his skin. Evil inhabited this space in his mind. The chamber's corners darkened, enclosed, and sharp-edged shadows skittered in his peripherals.

_You killed them, John Carver. You killed your family…_

"Carver! Carver, can you hear me?" Ellie's voice seemed distant. "Santos! I need you!"

_You're nothing but a murderer._ The whisper had a singsong tune on 'murderer'. A black, horned Marker radiated in red symbols. Like one of his granddad's family films, short vids of Damara and Dylan flickered on the wall. Love for them swelled into pure, unadulterated grief that was so deep, it seemed beyond him. _Give in, John. Give in to us. Make us whole. Turn it off. Turn it off. Turn it OFF._

"I don't understand." Paralyzed, choked, Carver sought an end to the horror. Nothing could disengage his attention on his wife and baby boy. "I don't…understand."

Cold hit his face, wet, dripping, and brought him out of darkness. Worry crinkling her brow, Santos leaned over him. In her hand was a pile of snow, and before she could apply it to his face a second time, he blocked her hand. Ellie cradled his head. They were vague shapes, distorted, and looking too much like Damara and Dylan.

"John, can you hear me?" He nodded. Ellie's fingers were gentle on his cheek. "Did you…did you hallucinate?"

Again he nodded, not up to speaking. From the doorway, Norton peeked in his craggy nose. "What's happening? What's going on?"

"Everything's under control," replied Santos. "Carver had a dizzy spell."

"A _dizzy spell_?" Norton huffed and his face contorted in disbelief. When he came fully into the doorway, Carver saw he wore a blue snowsuit. That didn't take very long. "You're kidding me, right? You're telling me that John Hardass Carver had a fainting spell like some _woman_?"

Santos surged to her feet with an equal, if not superior, look of disgust. "Robert, I have held my tongue for long enough. We all have been taxed beyond reasonable measures. We are hungry, thirsty, exhausted, and terrified." Norton's large frame dwarfed Santos, but her ire was up and she prodded a finger into his chest. "Aside from how your comment smacks of misogyny, Carver, most of everybody here, has protected us and has suffered devastating loss. I think the fact that he's lasted this long without showing worse symptoms is a miracle."

Norton's nostrils flared. "Santos, I'm warning you…"

"What, Robert, _what_?" Ellie's temper flashed hot as she jumped to aid her friend. "She's right and you know it. Tell us what a normal response to our situation entails because if you're suggesting that people are just too weak, then Aegis VII, the _Ishimura_, Titan and this whole planet must've been comprised of some pretty damn weak people!"

"C'mon, Ellie," Norton backed down under her verbal assault, "there's no need for that."

"Do _not_ patronize me. I've already _showed _you what being exposed to the Marker signal does. It fucks up your head, plays with you, makes you its bitch. Carver's been exposed to it, and now he has to live with it for the rest of his life." She was breathless at this point. "So why don't you go back to sulking in a corner, and let us take care of John."

Norton's jaw muscles worked as he composed a response. But by now, Carver decided it was time to intervene. He sat up. "I'm fine. Everyone cool off."

Carver's intervention went unnoticed. Norton continued with controlled fury tolling each word. "If all that's true then how come _we _haven't gone psychotic from the Marker signal?"

That statement seemed to poleax Ellie and took the wind from her sails. "We don't know everything about the signal. It could be that it's sparing us, or it could be…something else. I don't…_we _don't know. Perhaps the signal here amplifies his dementia."

"And yet, shockingly, you want to _linger_ down here. Whatever's happening to Carver still means we need to get the hell off this planet."

Carver couldn't stand the arguing anymore. Their loud voices hurt his brain, knives that stabbed over and over and over in his skull. He hoisted his weight off the floor, and as he left he said to Ellie and Norton, "When you two are ready to go, let me know. Santos," he plucked the Waypoint Station keycard from his pocket, "here's a present. Thanks for your concern."

He waited long enough for her to realize what she held, long enough for her face to light up with wonder and pleasure, like Dylan's did when he came through the door and Dad was waiting for him. Quickly, he ducked out of the side room into the main chamber because his eyes stung. Shit. _Shit._ He didn't need this.

"Carver? You okay, son?"

"Fan-fucking-tastic," he gritted out under his breath. He'd forgotten Buckell. How could he have forgotten Buckell? Louder, he said, "Good. I'm just…good."

From behind him, Buckell chuckled without humor. "I think…your pants are on fire."

It was Carver's turn to laugh a mirthless laugh. He approached Buckell, who seemed frail, childlike, sitting as he did on the floor, and crouched at his side.

"You talk, I listen," Buckell said. His chest heaved with labored breaths. When he tried to adjust, he exploded in a coughing fit with ended in a groan of pain. Without design, Carver put his hand under Buckell's white-haired head to settle him to the floor. "Jesus, I didn't think death hurt so much."

Carver couldn't help it. The comment was so morbid, spoken with such factuality, that it got to him. He chuckled, tried to hide it, couldn't and outright laughed. That was the end. Buckell had a half-grin, half-grimace but he too shook with laughter. His hysteria gave Carver the perfect opportunity to let the tears leak out that had built to brimming. And a couple minutes of mindless chortles later, he wiped his face.

"We have to…we have to get it together," Buckell said, breaking the hilarity. "The others will think we're off our rockers."

After several attempts, they did calm and assemble an air of dignity. Carver slipped out a foil packet he'd retained from his sec-suit. "Here," he said, tearing it open, "these are some pain killers. Take them."

His tone was enough for Buckell to comply. He popped them in his mouth and swallowed them dry. "Let's hope they do the trick."

They sat in companionable silence for several minutes before Buckell took Carver's hand in a firm grip. "Listen. I know this is a hard thing." Carver could tell the speaking was painful, but knew that Buckell needed to say what came next. "Ellie and Jenny…they don't want anymore death. I'm gonna die. I know it, accept it. They'll fight me." He closed his eyes, panting for air. "When the time comes, can I count on you?"

Carver understood what Buckell wanted from him. "Yes." He despised the idea of leaving Buckell behind, yet he understood the man's desire to die on his own terms. Carver hoped his own death would be on his terms, too.

"Thank you, son." With that, Buckell seemed spent and rested his head back, eyes closed.

Movement called Carver's attention behind him. Santos hunched over a work station, her datapad connected to some type of system. Ellie was beside her, fiddling with the elevator. Both were focused on their work, but when Ellie noticed him rise and step away from Buckell, she closed the remaining distance. A couple grease smears streaked across her brow.

"How is he?" she asked.

Carver kept it on the level. "He's dying."

His response wasn't want she wanted to hear, but she nodded. "The keycard you found opened a weapons and supplies cache in the other room. Robert's in there now, if you want to stock up."

"Sure."

The group did what they could to resupply. Carver's rifle was compatible with the rounds left behind in the locker, which was something at least. There were a few combat knives, grenades, and some other pistols. No food or water had been left behind, so everyone tightened their belts and tried not to think of it. Santos had been able to download and reconstruct a map of the facility. Across from their current location was a checkpoint station. Through the checkpoint, a steep path led to the main research installation.

After the briefing, Ellie returned to the elevator. "Give me some more time. I can get this elevator working, and we can search for another snowsuit."

Norton approached her with the last snowsuit in his arms. "Ellie, we need to move forward. We've already spent enough time here. You know that this place isn't defensible. Necromorphs will find us."

"We can't leave Buckell." She was adamant. "Put him in that snowsuit. I'll stay here and wait for Isaac. We'll catch up to you at the research facility"

It was during the second's worth of space between her response and Norton's that an audible noise interrupted them. Everyone muted, stood as statues. The sound was what had been described to him, but not quite. To Carver, it was a multitude of light pitter-patters. Children's feet as they dashed in the house. His ears, and then his heart, ached to hear boyish giggles. Four or five seconds later, silence. After another several seconds of wild glancing around, they realized they were undetected.

When the moment felt safe enough, Norton caressed Ellie's face. "Think about it, babe. If you're lucky, you'll freeze to death. It's probably stubbornness that's kept you from it so far. And if not, you'll be torn to pieces by whatever's inside these walls," he said, calmer and more rational than he had been before when she mentioned Isaac. Carver saw Ellie loosen up under Norton's new ploy. "And you don't know for certain if Isaac is coming. You can't afford to wait. It's best for you to come with us."

"But Buckell…"

Carver touched Ellie's shoulder. "…has made this choice for himself. Don't take that away from him. He knows the best chance of our survival is for him to stay behind. He'll wait for Isaac. Put on the last snowsuit." He looked to Buckell, who had not stirred. "Let him die on his own terms."

Ellie's mouth flattened. For a second, Carver felt she would refuse out of spite, but she took the snowsuit from Norton's grip. "I hate this. It should be me."

That was the end of it. One by one, they said their goodbyes to Buckell. Carver made sure he was the last one and slipped a pistol into Buckell's weak fingers.

"Your own terms," he said to Buckell.

The other returned with a faint smile. "Give 'em hell."

"I will, sir. It's been an honor."

Carver stood and broke regulation when he issued a smart salute to Buckell. Then before he could see Buckell's response, he followed the others without a backwards glance into the bleached white surroundings. They had waited for him in a loose semi-circle. He said nothing, but forged ahead to a faint outline of another shoddy building in the throes of abandonment. The snowsuit blocked the cutting wind and he no numbness in his limbs.

The security checkpoint nestled against the stark black rock, which stood like proud prows clouded with furious snow. Separating the sections was a barbed wire and chain link fence, reinforced with beams. Warning signs clanged in the wind. Several steps to the left led into the station, where Ellie dropped another flare. Inside was like the bunkers; dilapidated, cluttered, musty. Several shelves sagged with rotted books, and a desk set with long dead computers looked out to the barricade. At the end of the checkpoint was a greenish-blue biometric scan. It scanned them and unlocked the door.

Outside the wind howled, threw wild snow horizontally across the jagged surface. To the left was a metal crosshatched fence that rose above the surface two meters. Carver hugged this wall, unsure of what lay beyond the blur cloaking the right side of the path. Around a curve, the wind hit so hard it staggered him back.

"Keep on the left! The wind's strong!" he called over his shoulder. Broken down machines littered the pathway, and fleetingly, he wished they were operational.

Up and up the pathway curved until a rusty-red metal section appeared in front of him. The wind and snow and ice made a murky fog that caused zero visibility. Large, boxy storage containers were stacked inside. His suspicions were aroused. He waited until Santos, Ellie, and Norton closed up behind him before he turned and gestured.

"I'll scout ahead. Stay back until I give the alpha clear." He had to shout this three times before they understood what he said.

Once he was beyond the bridged area, an enclosed cave with two prongs spread out under the rock into cul-de-sacs. Two or three snowsuit-clad corpses lay in repose amid the scattered remains of green storage bins. At first glance, these corpses were longed-legged, black and mummified. By their sides lay pickaxes. Carver raised his rifle to his shoulder. Do not like the looks of those, he thought.

He squeezed off a couple rounds into the one closest. Even when he expected it, he didn't expect the corpse come to life and contort to its feet, the pickaxes included. He leapt damn near out of his snowsuit, strafed, finger heavy on the trigger. Off the corpse's legs flew. It didn't take much; the entire shape of the horror was spindly and brittle.

Inside his head the Marker's whispers contracted and expanded. Waves of ancient language thrashed him. Rapid cuneiformic shadows raced across the cave's dimensions.

Two more of the Necromorphs popped up. They charged at him, spider-like in quickness. _Damn,_ the fuckers were fast. In another spray of bullets, he cut their mobility. They hiss-whispered their throbbing language at him, yellow eyes alight under decayed hoods. Carver's mouth dried. Those things used the pickaxes like the slashers did their blades- -to crawl closer with each _chink, chink, chink._

He dodged a few more steps back. Unforgiving rock stopped him short. Backpedalling had been a mistake. Another monster had been concealed, in wait, in a crevice. Before he could shoot, twin pickaxes descended in a deadly arch. If he had been a nanosecond slower, John Carver's name would've been added to the restless dead. Instead, he blocked the blades with his rifle.

The blow's force, however, knocked him on his ass. As he crashed to the floor, breathless, the Necromorph pinned him. For something so dry and mummified, its strength matched, if not surpassed, Carver's. Its gabbles rose in intensity as the three he'd de-legged crawled closer. _Chink. Chink. Chink._ Victory would be theirs.

For a terrifying moment, his mind was a roaring blank. Dylan, Damara…I'm sorry.

The thing on top of him hoisted the pickaxes for another swing. Carver's training kicked in. With a spurt of savage strength, he jammed his rifle into the Necromorph's chest. The hit was enough to stagger it back. His body rolled before his brain kicked in. The trio was close, so close he count the number of teeth beyond withered lips. Now he had enough space. One, two, three, four short bursts tore into emaciated muscle and bone. Arms joined the legs in the butchery strewn across the cave floor.

Carver's heart pounded. He waited for any of them to so much as twitch. The torsos, however, were silent. As more seconds ticked by, his heart and nerves steadied out. He rose to his feet and returned to the group, who waited as he had told them to.

"We're clear," he shouted and waved at them. "C'mon."

But when he led them back, more corpses reposed amongst the green bins. Corpses that hadn'tbeen there before. He hoped they could sneak past, so he motioned the others to be silent. They nodded and said nothing. A ladder led them to an upper deck, granting them some safety from the creatures below. More boxes crowded the deck's right wing, and the path seemed to go left. Up ahead a defunct tractor trailer spanned across their path. It groaned under their weight as they traversed it. When it shuddered and shifted a couple inches, it gave them all a start, but by that time, they were on the other side of it.

As the path declined, the weather slackened. Below them, in a bowl-shaped depression, was the sprawling research facility at last.

* * *

**A/N:** I'll admit, it was difficult writing off Buckell. He's a character I liked very much. As always, please let me know thoughts & concerns regarding the story. Ciao!


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: **Holy crap! This chapter's one time? Whaaaat? =)

* * *

**Chapter 5**

* * *

Rising up behind the rectangular structure like a shark fin was a sharpened, riddled shard of Tau Volantis rock. It fitted, somehow, that it should split the icy wind and sleet. Everything was dark, uninhabited, and Carver knew that if they should reach the facility, their first order of business would be to get to central command. It never fucking ended.

"There it is! There it is!" Santos shouted. Hope and excitement bubbled in the words. "Finally, a break in our bad luck."

Carver gestured to the path which was a sinuous curve along the ridge face. "Let's get out of this weather. Everyone, be careful on the descent!"

When a cave swallowed the pathway, Carver slowed. He motioned the others to stay put as he investigated. Suspiciously, he stepped once, twice, three times into the cave. Where the wind had howled outside, the cave was eerie with silence. Everything inside this tunnel…this _artery_ felt wrong. Enclosed. He didn't like it.

He returned to the group, standing a few paces from the mouth, huddled against the blustery wind. "There's some kinda tunnel up ahead. It looks an opportunity for ambush. We should avoid it if possible."

Norton gestured to the sides, where a deep crack yawned out between their ledge and one several meters opposite, where another cliff face was shorn from some primordial upheaval. "You tell us where to go, soldier. Over the edge to our imminent doom or up the impossible-to-scale rock? I vote the tunnel with the path."

Ellie scowled at Norton, her hand holding up her hood. "Neither seems plausible if you put it like that!"

"Neither is plausible because _they aren't_," Norton retorted. "C'mon. I'm freezing my nuts off out here." Then without Carver's go-ahead, he started into the tunnel.

"Fuck," Carver spat and trailed after him, "Captain, hold up!"

Behind him, he heard Ellie's and Santos's boots crunch in the crisp top layer of snow. The tunnel must've been natural as the walls had no claw marks from diggers or drill equipment. No light permeated the rock, so their suits and small arms splattered blue-green glow across the sides. The flickers frayed his nerves because it was like the dancing shadows in his hallucinations. It was close inside, close enough that he could hear everyone's breathing. Either from altitude or strain, each of them strained for breath.

Carver braced his rifle to his shoulder. He expected at any time for a fucking monster to spring from under the snow. He wouldn't be surprised if they could explode from the rock itself. The path wound first left then right. Once around the second hairpin curve, the tunnel straightened for a length and a bright sheen illuminated the exit.

What greeted them was a wide snowy field across which loomed the installation. The rocky outcropping shielded the depression from the worst of the blizzard. They had a clear view of blackened, boxy metal. A wall extended across two rocky prows to the left, and the whole shebang looked built in multiple layers with extensive reinforcement. The outside of the facility extended in a curve out of sight to the right.

"Great. We're here. Now what do we do?" Norton said.

Santos gasped. "Hey, look!" Her suddenness broke Carver into a wild, panicked glance, but he calmed when he didn't perceive a threat. She continued, "A lift! You can just see the orange lock on it!"

They trooped to the lift. It was offline, powerless. Beside them was what amounted to a corrugated tin shack. Inside, debris cluttered every surface, but planted near some viewing windows that watched over the lift was another power generator. Santos rushed to it. Half her body disappeared behind the large yellow machine.

"The lines link up to the lift. Give it a crank," said Santos, her excitement palpable. "We're almost inside!"

Robert had taken up residency in the corner, his arms crossed. "Tone it down, Santos. We are very much in the woods."

"Carver? Give me a hand?"

Carver had always opened the pickle jars for Damara, too. Without complaint, he added his elbow grease to turn the crank. The motor spluttered, but rumbled to life. Lights lit up the shed, and welcomed warmth leaked from several space heaters. Outside, the lift's orange lock had switched to blue-green, and once everyone was on it, Ellie tapped the pad. After 200 years of grueling weather and nonuse, the lift shrieked and jerked up the track, but didn't collapse.

Further along a rickety catwalk, a couple doors, labeled SCAF Outpost, opened up to an elevator. Much to his surprise, the holopad was active and unlocked.

"The generator must have enough power for the elevator," Santos mused. "This should take us into the facility. Central Command will be across the way."

She pressed the button. The elevator vibrated as it descended and when it arrived, the interior rotated and opened up behind the holopad. A hallway extended to another active door. Slivers of light cut into the dim hall, which was crowded with barrels, electrical circuitry, and tools. Snow had crept icy fingers into the hall. Beyond the second door was more rusted, abused clutter packed alongside the walls. A single online cargo lift lowered them through a hastily patched corrugated tin shaft. The ride was slow, slow enough that Norton, beside him, crossed his arms and harrumphed with impatience.

The lift went no faster. White frost soon coated the shaft and the lift deposited them on a wide expanse surrounded with the tall, blackened metal. Beams crossed over head like bare rib bones. Several electrical poles and wires that had powered flood lights stood in a line through the courtyard. A desolate truck on large snow treads with five empty flatbeds broke the yard in two. Shutters and crevices and the SCAF emblem were everywhere.

"We've done it! C'mon, we can get into central command," Ellie said, her face crinkled in jubilation.

She led the group over the snowy courtyard. Yellow block text lit up the words 'CENTRAL COMMAND', and under that 'Authorized Personnel Only'. The lock was lit up blue-green.

After another elevator and a darkened corridor, they entered Central Command. It was a larger chamber. Taking up most of the space was a model of the entire complex set up on a table in the middle. Along the outer edges were couches, maps, and reports hung on boards. Decay was heavy in the air. Santos made a beeline to a cubicle snuggled into a corner, wielding her datapad in one hand, the stylus in the other.

"Carver," Ellie said, "it might be a good idea to search for a suit kiosk. We need you to have stasis and kinesis. We might also find more ammunition and weapons lying around. What do you think?"

Norton overheard her and interjected. "No. It's not safe even here. None of us should be wandering around in this complex, which, I might add, is overrun with fucking Necromorphs."

"Robert, he's better protected with a security suit! He can better protect _us._"

"It's not the stupid suit I'm concerned about," he retorted. He closed in on Ellie, using his stature to push her back, to show dominance. "What I'm worried about is him going ape-shit out there and coming back to kill us."

Carver grappled with Norton's comment while an uncomfortable silence stretched out between them. So that was it, was it? After all these years, what it came down to was that Robert, his captain, his best fucking friend, didn't trust him. The one man in the universe who should trust him, didn't. The Marker, or whatever the hell it was, had jerked him around, forced him into killing dead his family, had tormented him, and because of that, he wasn't trustworthy?

Ellie sighed. "Look, I'll go with him."

"No," said Carver. "I can do this alone."

Norton rounded on Carver. "You ain't doing this alone."

"So I'm not going alone because you don't trust me enough not to go homicidal, sir." He inflected 'sir' with coldness. "I wasn't sure how you felt, but now I do."

"Man, don't be like that," Norton said, hands gesturing. "That's not what I meant."

Carver kept silent and stared down Norton. Enough was enough. He wasn't backing off this time. He wasn't going to say 'Yes, Captain, whatever you say, sir.' Not this time. Norton caught his drift. His face worked spasmodically as Carver kept his stance square with his decision.

Then before Norton could grind out any conciliatory remarks, Carver did an about-face. As he left he said, "I'll keep up communications. Ellie, you can guide me over audio."

"John!" she called, but he had stepped out into the hall already and didn't turn back.

The first stretch of his exploratory mission was done on auto-pilot. He didn't retain any information from what he experienced. His kept his rifle shouldered, kept his head on a swivel, and cleared dark corners with his flashlight. Unperturbed, the buildings had retained their integrity except for some broken windows that had let in snow and wind.

By then, anger had cooled enough for sensible words to shape his thoughts. His first was: Fucking Robert Norton. _Fucking Norton._ When had he, Sgt. John W. Carver, ever been a threat to the group? Never. Never had there been an instant where he had threatened them. If anything, he was the one who kept them alive and safe! Goddammit. Was it too much to ask for a little trust? At least Clarke had the decency to respect and trust him, albeit marginally and at arm's length.

"Dad? Dad, help me." Dylan. Was he here? His sweet son's voice was close, gut-wrenching with panic. It derailed the collective wrath that stewed inside him. "Please. I need you."

His path snaked to a functional lift which descended with clatters to a short hallway and through a couple more doors to yet another hall, shabby and enclosed with various boxes, tools, and workstations. Everything had once been neat, but with the cataclysmic outbreak, the military efficiency had gone to the dogs. No outside light penetrated this hall. However, some emergency lights cast shadows that danced in his peripherals. Step by step, he cleared his corners, his rifle always ready.

"Please hurry, Dad! I can hear them!"

He muttered, "I'm coming, Dill. Hang on, I'm coming." His heart, his _head_, hurt so much, pulsed and contracted so when he didn't occupy his mind, the agony of it brought him to the verge of tears. This was probably the Marker. No one else had heard his son's voice. But he could not deny his own flesh and blood. There was so much more he could've done, but hadn't.

_You wouldn't feel regret if you were a better father, John._ Damara's disembodied whisper seized his heart. After everything was said and done, he continued to love her and her admonishments stung him. _Why couldn't you go to his birthday party? You know you could've switched shifts._

She was right. He hated that she was always right. Was that why he spited her?

The hall split at a T-junction, and Dill's voice came from the left. Eager to face whatever threatened his son, Carver moved down this separate corridor. A low thrum vibrated through the decking. And this corridor seemed exempt from the clutter that plagued the rest of SCAF's derelict ships and buildings. The streamlined walls unsettled him, vaguely. Several locked doors lined the hall- -offices, Carver guessed- -and yellow and white painted tracks lined the floor.

"Carver? Are you there?" Ellie, on audio. "Carver, please respond."

"Yeah, I'm here."

"Oh," and he heard the relieved sigh, "it's been twenty minutes. Is everything okay?"

"No."

His short tone didn't deter her. "Fair enough," she said, and he heard no offense. "Look, I think something's going on with Robert. Doesn't he seem to be acting…oddly? Not his usual self?"

Carver paused to search a squarish, darkened crevice. Nothing. He cruised forward. "I don't know." At this point, he was willing to concede that Robert Fucking Norton flew his true colors, high and proud. "Is that what you think?"

She didn't respond for a few seconds. He prompted her. "Ellie?"

"The Marker signal could be messing with him. But I…I can't be sure. Each of us are under such tremendous pressure, it's possible that he can't handle it well."

"It's not your job to justify his behavior."

"I know, John, I know. But he won't talk to me about it, about _any _of it. I don't know what to do."

"There's nothing you _can_ do." Was that the truth of it? He was uncertain. "We have to move on, even if we don't like it."

She paused. "What he said to you was wrong. He won't admit it and he won't apologize, but John, if it's any consolation, I trust you and so does Santos. Let me know if you find anything, okay?"

"Yeah." They signed off.

Up ahead was another bigger door labeled in the same yellow block-print: 'ELECTRICAL AND MECHANICAL REQUISITION AND REPAIR', the text read as it scrolled. He cranked the door handle and watched the gears spin like clockwork. Inside, the metal decking jutted out as an upper level to wide-open chamber. Rows and rows of metal shelving crossed the floor. To his immediate right, flush to the back wall, was a partitioned station, the Requisitions Office.

As he stood, overlooking the floor, he heard an echoed clang, as a metal object fell to the floor. He couldn't see in the shadows, and the emergency lights did little to help. On either side of the upper level were blue-tinted ladders. Before he took one, he surveyed the area, checking and double checking.

"Dad, I'm over here! Please hurry!"

"Dill!"

Carver mounted the ladder and slid down it to save time. He took the aisle closest to him and to the chamber's wall, so he had one direction to keep his light. In a controlled jog, he hurried up the aisle, his flashlight shining lengthways along the rows of shelves. These rows were clear up until the last one. He stopped short.

Standing up to about his waist in the last row was a toy soldier. _The _toy soldier. Its epaulets, bandolier, and brass buttons were in minute detail under a ghostly white-painted face with rouged cheeks. Over the red vest, the pale face was stern, expressionless. It was not the first toy soldier he'd seen. Nah, he started seeing toy soldiers much, much earlier than this.

Regardless, the sight of it rattled him. He put out his hand to touch the hat, but the instant his hand lowered, the soldier vanished. Afterwards, he had to swallow around his dry throat. His heart, man, his heart thundered. His eyes scanned the rest of the floor, and there, nestled between two other shelving units was a suit kiosk.

"Ellie, I've found a kiosk. It's operational."

"That's great news! It's such a relief," she replied. Then, hesitantly, "If it's not too much trouble, when you're through there, would you patrol the main gate? I've…Isaac may be dead, but if he's not, I want you there to bring him in."

"I can do that."

"Thanks, Carver."

He walked to the suit kiosk, selected the traditional security snowsuit, and stepped in. When he stepped out, he cranked his neck and bounced on his toes. Much, much better. Best of all, the suit was supplied with the ammo he needed. Either Santos or Ellie had gotten the RIG system synced and a waypoint pinged on his HUD. He swung the gun strap to his shoulder and headed to the ladders.

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**A/N:** And another chapter down. Don't forget to tell me your thoughts & concerns. Until next time!


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **Hello, again, dear readers. As a warning, we decided to implement co-op for this chapter as it makes the best sense to the storyline. Please enjoy this last installment.

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**Chapter 6**

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Outside on the gate was miserable, but he stood and faced the narrow channel that plowed between sharp, high waves of frozen rock. He felt isolated, even though he could go into Central Command and find Ellie, Santos, and Norton. The problem with that was that they couldn't begin to understand how he felt, what he saw, what he _heard._

Every few minutes, he would traverse the creaky catwalk to check angles. Ellie sending him out here to watch for Isaac had been a flimsy excuse. But an excuse was an excuse. Being caged in the same room as Norton, where his cowardly reek was inescapable, seemed to Carver like hell. Ellie had been right to derive a reason for him to leave and stay gone.

Which left the question: what was he going to do?

For a while, he toyed with the idea of killing Norton outright. Go into command and put a bullet into the coward's head. He would be justified since all the captain had done so far was whine and complain about being on Tau Volantis. He had tried to use rank to get his way. He argued about every single solution that everyone else had presented. He had treated Buckell like a nonentity, like he wasn't a human being who deserved respect, and that, Carver felt, was unforgivable.

Grimacing, Carver realized he should have known. Their history together was riddled with Norton's arrogance and weakness, but their friendship and the breadth of time was enough to blind him. It wasn't until the last second had Carver finally _seen_ what had been in front of his eyes. Norton had only ever considered him, hell, and everyone else, a useful tool, someone who to do the dirty work while Norton sat back and reaped the benefits.

Now the question wasn't would Carver kill Norton- -he would in a heartbeat (no doubt in his mind about it)- -but would it be beneficial to kill him. Necromorphs posed a real threat. Norton had fought Necros without hesitation and in the future, Carver wouldn't be able to defend Ellie and Santos on his own without Norton's hand. However, Santos and Ellie had also fought the Necros. Ellie, especially, had held her ground. She'd told him about Titan, when she'd survived in the death and blood by herself before Isaac. It meant that Norton wasn't a necessary to fight.

Norton could pilot a shuttle, but so could Ellie. Furthermore, Carver was ninety-nine percent sure this whole trip had been one way. He banked on not surviving as long as he could kill the Marker or whatever controlled it. So Norton wasn't necessary to pilot the shuttle, if it came to that.

Was there any downside to eliminating Norton?

Rationally, Carver recognized murdering his BFF and captain would diminish his sanity in the women's eyes. They would be unable to trust him and that distrust would diminish their ability to work as a cohesive unit. Down the road, he didn't think it mattered if Santos or Ellie trusted him; however, he had no idea what kind of Necros would face them later on or what this "machine" was. He needed Santos and Ellie to help him defeat it…whatever it was, and that required them to believe he wasn't a threat.

The best course of action would be to let Norton live for a few more hours. Man, it caught in his throat to allow that to happen. On principal, Norton was dead to him. Problem temporarily solved, his mind moved to other matters, such as when (_if_ was more honest) was Clarke going to show up?

Of everyone, Clarke would understand the situation. Maybe Clarke would help him devise a plan to deal with Norton. His thoughts took him aback. Since when did he begin to consider Clarke an ally? Carver shook the thought. Not allies, he thought, they were going in the same direction.

_What direction is that?_ Damara asked in the wind. _What direction are you going? John, when are you coming home? Dylan's birthday party…he's so looking forward to seeing you there._

Her dark eyes were sad, penetrating, on the holoscreen, her brown hair soft waves over her shoulders. In the background, he saw the birthday decorations, party hats, and the cake with candles.

"No, I can't make it. I've got duty. I have to-" He stopped when her face contracted in a mix of anger and sorrow. "Damara, I'm sorry. I can't talk."

_You never have time to talk,_ she said and turned from the screen. _You never had time._

As it had been since the Circle's pulse canon had destroyed the Uxor shroud, cold, powerful panic metastasized from his stomach. Even in the afterlife, Damara hurt him. Carver turned aside, feeling the frigid wind and ice creep to his skin, and nearly stepped on the hand-sized toy soldier standing in the middle of the catwalk.

Panic bled into raw fear that startled him against the railing. That goddamned toy soldier was his punishment, wasn't it? A constant reminder that he'd fucked up his family life, hadn't protected Damara or Dylan. How much more? How much more was he supposed be punished?

_You deserve it, _whispered the childish, singsong voice inside his brain. _Your punishment is justice for a family that you neglected._

"I didn't neglect them," he responded, knowing that he was doing a stupid thing.

_But you didn't treat them like they mattered. You sacrificed them because you were selfish._

"No. They mattered. They-" He choked on the words, cringed as a sob expanded inside his chest.

Carver gazed up into the pinky orange haze the setting sun cast. Snowflakes glittered from the brightness. It would be night soon. He could wander out there…meet his doom within the labyrinth of horned rock. Go out and search for Necros until his ammo ran out then take 'em on with his knife, gladiator-style. Yeah, that would be better than dealing with Norton's shit and seeing Damara and Dylan everywhere he looked.

He was already on the lift. All he had to do was press a button and step out onto the crunchy white. Step by step he could leave behind his troubles. No one would ever know…it would be so easy to just- -

"Get it together. C'mon. _C'mon_," he said. His psyche may be shot, but _he _wasn't. He could suppress it. "It's fucking with you. It's just fucking with you." He clenched his teeth and eyes, screwed up his stubbornness. He would not be defeated. He would not go down without a fight.

Before Carver could return to the catwalk, a figure- -blue-green visor aglow- - waved at him from below. "Carver, down here!"

Holy. Shit. "Clarke? How the hell did you…?" He interrupted himself because deep down, he'd relied on Isaac showing up, had known it somehow. "Never mind! Come on, we're in…" From the other side of the gate a huge, spider-like creature loomed. Icy, snowy swirls had veiled it from view. "Oh, shit!"

It scuttled toward him. Underneath its bloated belly, he saw several slashers scale up the installation's side. He couldn't stop them; they were someone else's concern. "Langford, they're coming over the outer wall! You hear me? They're headed your way!" His warning would have to be enough.

Reactively, he squeezed off a few rounds as the big thing closed in. The thing was limbs and flailing tentacles and he didn't even know where to start to shoot it. "Dammit! Clarke, we're in Central Command. Get up here!"

He heard the lift screech behind him, but the beast was too close, too huge as it crawled up the gate to the catwalk. His suppressive fire wasn't doing much to keep it at bay. Carver backpedaled as Clarke stepped beside him with a shabby line gun. The beast cornered them in the lift, swaying it off the tracks, then two pinchers stabbed through the steel top, peeling it back like a can. A snaky, horned tentacle writhed itself into the space. Carver was knocked on his ass and breathless, he watched as Clarke flipped over the rail.

"Shit!"

Carver dove, frantic, to where Clarke had a tenuous grip, landing a hand on his forearm to haul him up. Somehow both men scrambled back onto the lift. The beast was entangled- -the noise unbearable- -and after a second's more of dangerous tilting, the lift tore free from the track. It tipped over, flinging Carver onto hard, frozen ground.

Stunned, Carver groped for his rifle and pushed to unsteady legs in the wreck of the lift. His ribs screamed where he'd been lashed. A couple feet away, Clarke, too, staggered to his feet, shaking his head. The beast buzzed past them, dancing on four spindly legs, horns jutting in varied directions. It roared, screeched, as it hopped to face forward. The damn monster was agile as fuck. From the torso of it more tentacles unfurled, glowing hot and yellow with soft, pink tissue.

"Oh, shit," Carver heard Isaac say as he raised the line gun, the same time he said, "Come _on._"

This Necro was nothing like the humanoid creatures he and Clarke had faced on New Horizons and in Tau Volantis space. This was foreign to him…alien. Isaac, beside him, strafed already recovered from shock.

"Get 'em from behind. I'll take the front!"

Carver had no time to argue tactics with him. He dashed forward into the windswept depression toward a mass of rock blurry on the horizon that would provide cover. To his side, he tracked the Necro's movements. A blistering glow from Clarke's line gun surged the air, slamming into the beast's chitinous armor. Pieces flew off, but the creature remained largely unharmed and to prove it, it roared loud enough to rattle his lungs. In response, Carver blasted away at the rear and had no luck.

After a more couple shots, Clarke shouted, "His armor's too thick. Aim for the soft tissue!"

It seemed to ignore Carver in favor of Clarke and charged, pissed and aggressive. The long tentacles wiggled overhead, lashing out at the small human on the ground. Clarke darted a short distance, twisted and shot out stasis. The blue streak splashed on the creature and coated it, and to Carver's surprise, it slowed down to the last tentacle.

Carver unloaded on one of the tentacles; the limb exploded off in a juicy spray. Now they were getting somewhere. He reloaded his rifle. In that slice of time, the Necro spun around, screamed, and charged at him. Adrenaline pumping, Carver sprinted in a serpentine fashion around the rock. The pounding legs sent vibrations to his feet as the presence loomed behind him too close for comfort.

Focused on new prey, the snowbeast was unprepared for Clarke's renewed assault. He had perfect timing. Writhing tentacles were severed in a spray of fluid and flash of bright light. The thing curled onto its legs, shuddered, howled again, and…three prongs unfurled from its mouth. Then it righted itself and hopped to face the two stupefied men like nothing had happened, bellowing.

Around them the blizzard blew strong and hazed visibility next to nothing. "What do we do now, Clarke?"

"Keep your fire concentrated on those glowing bits," Clarke replied. "With any luck, we can sever them permanently and kill the thing."

It kept getting better and better. The Necro seemed to have a deep sense of preservation unlike any other creature Carver had faced. It continued to charge and hop around, dancing forward and backward. Several times it attempted to flick and knock them back with its strong, lengthy legs. They did their best to aim for the prongs, but, frustratingly, they had to adjust their aim every second.

Carver couldn't keep down his impatience. "God_damn._ Hold still!"

After what seemed an eternity of sallying back and forth, Carver and Clarke managed to sever the damn tentacles out of the beast's mouth. It awkwardly stumbled to the ground. The men closed in on it, tasting victory, but somehow, the thing clambered to its legs and leapt toward the gate.

Clarke yelled, "Hey! I'm not finished with you yet!" as it crawled over the gate, breaking the catwalk off in the process. It paid no mind to the two men, tiny in comparison.

"Where's it going?" Clarke asked as the beast jerked its body up and over the gate. Its ugly body disappeared into the blizzard-ravaged canyons. "It's leaving. They _never _leave."

Carver couldn't wrap his head around the encounter. His thoughts echoed Clarke's statement. The thing had retreated? Since when did these things have the capacity to make tactical retreats? With sarcasm, he replied, "Where it always goes. Out there…somewhere. We'll see it again."

How they were to defeat it a second time or third or…can't worry about it out here. He squared his shoulders and looked to Clarke who had already headed to the destruction that was once the lift and catwalk. Carver envied his recovery speed.

"Come on," Clarke said, "I think I see a way over the gate."

A large section of the catwalk had been broken off and lay like a ramp to the upper part of the gate. At the top, a ladder connected this part to the deck where Carver had patrolled. They were high enough up the fall alone should have killed them. As he climbed the ladder, Carver noticed how much his hands shook, but Clarke was already up and waiting for him. Together, they leaned into the powerful gusts towards a door into the installation.

Even before they got near the door, Clarke was on audio. "Ellie? Are you there? Ellie, can you hear me?"

"Isaac! Oh, my God!"

"He's alive?" asked Santos, on the shared audio, and Carver smirked at the shock evident in her voice.

Norton was next. "And Carver?"

"Hey, Captain," was all the reply he could muster. He must act normal. Norton mustn't conceive of Carver's conclusions and preparations.

The conversation continued on between Isaac and Ellie as the men rode the elevator into a shortened hallway. "Ellie," Clarke said. "It's so good to hear your voice."

"How did you make it? The ship- -we thought you were dead!"

"I-I followed your trail of flares. Are you guys alright?"

"Yeah. Yeah, for the most part"- -but Carver heard Buckell's loss in her voice- -"I can't believe you're alive. Carver can guide you to Central Command."

"We'll get there as fast as we can."

By this time, he and Clarke had passed through a couple old doors into the open parade ground. Carver pointed across to the other side. "That's where we're headed."

They entered the other side of the facility with zero difficulties, and frankly, Carver was relieved that there weren't any other hostiles to fight. Fighting the snowbeast had exhausted him and made him aware of his vulnerability. Not that he was afraid of death. He'd already resolved that fear. He was afraid that when he did bite the dust, he'd turn into one of those…things. Inhuman, violent, mutated. And what bothered him the most was that they'd left behind Buckell to become one. Even if Buckell shot out his brains, these creatures didn't need brain material to function.

Later on, would they have to fight Buckell's remains? When he died, would whoever was left have to fight what _he'd_ become?

When they entered Central, Ellie and Norton stood at the foot of the table. Norton noticed their arrival first and his cold eyes fixed on Isaac. Carver might as well have been invisible.

"Isaac," Norton said.

When Ellie turned, her face was aglow with her relief. "Isaac! You made it." She approached Isaac, and Carver saw his hesitation but then Ellie pushed her face into his chest. "I knew you would."

The tension that drained from Isaac's shoulders telegrammed into Norton's posture, straightening it as he went on the defensive. Carver felt a chill descend over them. As sure as the snow whirled outside the perimeter, a fight coalesced inside the room. Norton's face had become a contorted mask of jealousy.

"Good to see you made it, Isaac." Norton said. Then, deadpanning, "You know, maybe we should give you two some time alone, huh?"

Both Isaac and Ellie gave him their attention. Ellie's eyebrows crunched with irritation as she broke from Isaac to step up to Norton. "What the hell does that mean?"

"It means, for someone who's in the past, you're awfully glad to see him."

"We need him. _This mission_ needs him," Ellie said. Her tone was final, determined, and geared to argue.

Carver was inclined to agree with her. It had been Isaac who'd interpreted the Marker scrawl in the Admiral's office. It had been both he and Clarke to collect and repair the _Crozier_ when Norton had done nothing as everyone else had run around. Norton had been, and continued to be, obstinate. Single-minded for escape and thus, the extinction of the human race. Carver's finger stroked the trigger. It would be so easy to solve everyone's problems with one single bullet…

By this time, Norton and Ellie circled like dogs over a bit of meat. Norton growled at Ellie, "Come on, we need him…or _you_ need him?"

Santos had heard the argument and had come to stand beside him as Ellie, Norton, and Clarke jockeyed for control. Her silent presence radiated anxiety as Carver casually checked his rifle- -safety off, rounds in the chamber.

Clarke interceded. "Hey, you got something to say to me, Captain?"

If his intention was to take the heat off Ellie, it worked to perfection. As though magnetized, Norton stepped from Ellie to face off with Isaac. Carver had his bets on Clarke to win if it came to blows. Norton was military trained, but military training was nothing compared to surviving three Necromorph outbreaks, plus EarthGov and Circle assassins. Clarke had desperate strength and a degree of survival intelligence that Norton had no concept of.

"Stop! Just stop!" Ellie dug herself between the two men to separate them. "We need to shut down that damn machine, and we don't even know where it is yet!"

"I do," Santos interrupted. When everyone's attention honed in on her, she faltered. "I-I mean, I think I know how to find it." She tapped a few times on her datapad as the drama dissolved. "Wha…I've been digging through what's left of the research notes, and-"

Research notes? "I thought all that stuff was destroyed," Carver said.

"Well, computer data, yes." She faced him with earnest. "But the _written_ logs discuss a signal-tracking experiment that pinpointed the machine's exact location. I think if we repeat it, we can do the same! But…it's at the other end of the complex."

"Yeah, fine. Fine, let's have a look." Upset clouded Norton's features. Rancor simmered under the surface. "I could use a change of scenery."

Without waiting for anyone, Norton plunged forward to the exit, knocking aside Isaac, who seemed to suppress a mix of fury and discontentment. Ellie and Santos said nothing further and followed out Norton. Carver looked to Isaac.

"He's a real asshole, you know that," said Clarke.

Carver shrugged. "Asshole or not, we have a job to do." He hitched up his rifle to his shoulder. He hadn't had the opportunity before to ask, but it was now or never. "You didn't happen to see…Buckell at any point, did you?"

"Yeah." Clarke's expression darkened. "Yeah, I did. He was at the Waypoint Station. Told me…told me you guys didn't have enough snowsuits, and he opted to stay behind."

"He was alive?"

"He…he died shortly after," said Clarke. "He held on long enough."

Carver felt his chest constrict. "Yeah. Did he seem…was he okay? At the end?"

"He didn't change, if that's what you mean."

He hadn't changed. Maybe there was some hope after all. "We should get going. The others are waiting."

Carver strode forward, determined to keep his emotions in check. Buckell had died, but hadn't changed. He wouldn't have to end him or think about the warped, stretched jaws, mangled arms and scythes, sinews and skin red like ground meat, the spew of fluid from screaming mouths and the clear, horrifying truth that he had put a million bullets into his family's corpses.

"Carver, are you okay?"

Clarke's gentle question interrupted Carver's trip down memory lane. "I'm fine. Let's go."

They had a Marker to find, and once found, to kill…or be killed.

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**A/N:** Thanks for reading. As always, let me know thoughts, concerns or questions. Cheers!


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